


Coping

by Sealandisntacountry



Category: Be More Chill - Iconis/Tracz
Genre: "Having makeup sex with Chloe", "Where's your date?", (implied) - Freeform, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Au where Rich and Jake were dating before the halloween party, Eventual Fluff, F/F, F/M, First over their best friends and then over eachother, Light Angst, M/M, Michael in the Bathroom, Rich and Michael are trans by public demand, Rich is sad, Rich's lisp, Sharing Feelings, Then they're less sad, They both pine a lot, This is gonna be so great, Trans Male Character, Trans Michael, Trans Rich, Unlikely Friendships, and Jake still has makeup sex with Chloe, bully/victim to mutual support to lovers, enjoy, eventual smut probably I'm not gonna pretend it won't happen, getting stoned in michael's basement, it's sad, its emotional, its gay, michael is sad, might get more angsty as time passes, only its Rich and Michael, some of them might be trans, there are a lot of feelings in general, together
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-09
Updated: 2017-10-17
Packaged: 2018-11-29 19:13:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,088
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11447289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sealandisntacountry/pseuds/Sealandisntacountry
Summary: The numb in Michael's head had stopped being pleasant about two drinks ago.--“Where’s your date?”The question ripped through the silence like a knife, and stung just as much.  Michael found himself surprised by the fact that his voice hadn’t shaken when he spoke.Rich froze, before laughing lightly until his throat caught and he rubbed his hands up and down his face silently.“Having makeup sex with Chloe.”  From what Michael had heard through the grapevine, Chloe and Jake had an on-again-off-again relationship, often interrupted with scandalous sexual exploits, but from what Michael could tell, Rich and Jake had seemed to be pretty serious for around three months.“Oh.  That sucks.”





	1. "Where's your date?"

**Author's Note:**

> Pretty self explanatory. Looking for a beta, if anyone's interested.

Nothing kills the energy of a party like abandonment. The music had lost its upbeat urgency, the drunk girls had lost their humorous value, and the shitty booze had lost its pleasant burn.

Michael was too tired to pretend he was having fun. There was no reason to hide anymore, no one to save, or impress, not that there ever was, _not really._

 

The numb in his head had stopped being pleasant about two drinks ago.

 

The hall to the front door was full of drunk teenagers trying to get into each others pants, and the bedrooms, closets, and other bathrooms were full of those who had succeeded.  Not only was there no reason to stay hiding, but as of his timely exit from the one bathroom he had managed to horde, there really was physically nowhere for him to hide.

 

He was better off leaving all together.

 

And so, he wasted no time in edging around couples making out like the world was burning to ashes, and made his way to the front door to make his overdue escape.  

 

The door handle gave way with next to no resistance, and suddenly, he was _out._  The suffocating stench of teen _coping_ fell away in the crisp October night air, and all at once, he just _was._  In that moment, it felt as if the tether that held him to the ground had snapped, and he could float away with the help of a gentle breeze.

 

He took a shuddering breath, feeling his lips go numb in the cold.  He left the sleeves of his sweater rolled up his arms, the air leaving pleasantly unpleasant pinpricks up and down his forearms.  The front porch and yard was blissfully free of population, most of the partygoers having migrated inside and to the back.  

 

Michael walked forward a few steps, and spotted the back of a familiar head of dirty blonde hair, slouched on the second to last step to the ground.

 

 _Rich._  The man who had started it all.  Michael had thought about what he would say to Rich almost as much as he had with Jeremy, because honestly,  _fuck him.  Fuck him for convincing his best friend that he wasn’t good enough, fuck him for ruining the single real thing he had ever had, fuck him for convincing his boyfriend to throw this stupid party,_ **_fuck him._ **

 

He stared at the back of Rich’s head, and as quickly as his anger had bubbled, it faded away.  Michael supposed he couldn’t even blame Rich for this, at this point.  Jeremy had made it very clear that this was what he wanted, after all.  The thought had bile rising in Michael’s throat, no doubt assisted by the beers.

 

Michael made his way down the steps, and Rich finally noted his presence, his shoulders tensing as he heard Michael descend.  Michael stopped on the ground in front of Rich, and turned to face him.

 

Rich glued his eyes to the ground in front of Michael’s shoes, and folded in on himself even more, if possible.  Michael was shaken.  He had never seen Rich look so… _small._  Because he did.  Without his loud confidence and stinging words, Rich finally looked his height.

 

“Where’s your date?”

 

The question ripped through the silence like a knife, and stung just as much.  Michael found himself surprised by the fact that his voice hadn’t shaken when he spoke.

 

Rich froze, before laughing lightly until his throat caught and he rubbed his hands up and down his face silently.

 

“Having makeup sex with Chloe.”  From what Michael had heard through the grapevine, Chloe and Jake had an on-again-off-again relationship, often interrupted with scandalous sexual exploits, but from what Michael could tell, Rich and Jake had seemed to be pretty serious for around three months.  

 

“Oh.  That sucks.”  Michael shifted, suddenly uncomfortable.

 

“Yeah-- I mean, I don't know why, why I thought this time would be any different.  It’s always--” Rich ran his hand through his hair, and bit his lip before continuing, “it's always been Chloe with him.”  Michael thought back to his _now-ex-best-friend-of-twelve-years_ , and nodded, understanding.

 

“I know how that feels.”

 

Rich looked up to meet his stare, eyes glassy and shining in the moonlight, red-rimmed and puffy, and Michael saw himself in them, felt Rich and felt for Rich more than he could ever remember feeling for anyone.

 

“You do?”

 

Michael met his stare before looking down at his feet, feeling confronted, “yeah, uh, sort of.  Different, but, yeah.”

 

“Oh.”

 

“Yeah.”

 

There was a lapse in conversation, and Michael thought there really wasn’t much else to say, but as much as he hated to admit it, part of him felt somehow better talking to his highschool bully.  The mere concept of the occurrence of the entire conversation was so absurd that it offered him a distinct sense of disconnect.  

 

Michael stepped forward and sat on the step next to Rich, and they stared into the darkened suburbia of Jake’s neighborhood.  

 

Rich let out another chuckle, and leaned back on the step behind him before exhaling sharply.

“Hurts like a motherfucker, doesn't it?”

 

Michael quietly noted his lisp, and carefully decided not to mention it.

“Sure does.”

 

There was another pause before Rich broke the silence.

“Hey, uh, don't take this the wrong way or anything, but I didn't thinking you were actually, like, invited to--” Rich paused, unsure,  “the party.”

 

Michael rubbed the back of his neck and answered honestly.

“Oh, yeah, I wasn't.  Pretty stupid of me to come, actually, I don't know what I was expecting.”

 

“Oh.”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“Well, whatever you were expecting, uh, what did you get?”

 

Michael exhaled shakily, “the formal ending of a twelve year friendship.”

 

“Oh,” Rich repeated.

 

“Yeah, the saga of Michael and Jeremy is no more.”

 

“Oh,” Rich turned to Michael, “shit.”

 

“Shit,” Michael echoed.

 

“That’s kind of my fault, isn’t it,” Rich said, quietly, and the still, cold October night carried on without them.

 

Michael stayed silent for a minute.  It was Rich’s fault.  Or at least, he thought it was.  He wasn’t sure anymore.  He wasn’t sure he could blame anyone at this point.

 

“He made it very clear what he wanted.”

 

“I’m sorry.”

 

“Me too.” Rich looked down at his hands, while his jaw clenched and unclenched slowly.  Michael’s eyes trained on him, watching as he blinked away obvious tears.  Michael had a sudden realization, and snapped back to reality, “wait, don’t you have a squip?”

 

“Oh, yeah, I’m totally hammered,” Rich responded.

 

A pause.

 

“Okay, noted, but what does that have to do with anything?”

 

Rich ran his fingers through his hair, effectively mussing it up, “Oh, you didn’t know?  Alcohol sort of, like, temporarily fucks it up.”

 

“Oh.  That’s cool.  How long do you think you’ve got?”

 

Rich laid back against the steps, looking up at the foggy night sky.  “Probably ‘till morning,” he said, “it’s gonna be hell when it comes back, though.”

 

“Well,” Michael started, thinking back to the chats with his WoW guildmate, “what if it didn’t have to come back?”

 

Michael was unsure, to say the least.  He had already been rejected when proposing an end to the awful fucking floppy disk, and wasn’t looking forward to another.

 

“Believe me, I’ve tried.  The only thing that can actually shut it down is this fucking,” Rich gestured violently and let his hand fall to his face and dug his nails into his brow, “soda that got discontinued in the nineties.”

 

“Yeah, Mountain Dew Red, right?”

 

Rich jolted, and stared Michael down, shocked.

 

“How’d you know?”

 

Michael leaned back on the steps next to Rich, smiling, “you’ve got your skills, I’ve got mine.”

 

“Okay.  Fair enough.”  Rich laughed lightly.

 

The two of them stared up at the night sky, the fog lit up by the light of the moon.  Rich was almost sure he could feel the moisture of the fog, even all the way down here.

 

Michael shifted, and rested his hands on his stomach nervously.

 

“So, this is gonna sound weird,” he said, “but I may or may not have a hookup at the mall.”  

 

Rich was silent for a minute before responding, “like the squip?”

 

Michael considered this for a moment before responding.

 

“Less sinister and life destroying, but sort of I guess.  They didn’t have any in stock last time I dropped by, but we could check in the morning?”  He turned to Rich, “I mean, if you actually want it out.”

 

Rich’s eyes widened and released a choked sob before leaning forward and burying his face in his arms. His shoulders shook as he let out a shaky breath.

 

“Are you--” Michael said, concerned.  He leaned forward and shakily placed a hand on Rich’s back, “--you okay, dude?”

 

Rich waved him off, laughing.

 

“Yeah man, I’m fine, just…” he let out another sob, “fuck, I’ve been trying to get my hands on some for so fucking long, I just… fuck.  Thank you.”  

 

Michael, simultaneously dumbfounded, mildly uncomfortable, and relieved, let out a soft laugh and opened his mouth to speak before thinking better of it and settling on just _looking_ at Rich.

 

Once Rich had calmed down enough, they laid back against the steps once more.  

 

“So,” Michael started, “we can’t exactly… uh, go to the mall just yet, ‘cause it’s like, the middle of the night and all, but I also kind of don’t want to go home.”

 

Rich nodded in agreement, “Me neither.  I don’t really… want to go back in, though,” his eyes went glassy again, and he swallowed before continuing, “I don’t think I want to face Jake yet.  Or… ever?  Yeah, probably ever,” Michael tilted his head in acknowledgement, “ _but,_ this is kinda where I was gonna stay for the night.  Things are kinda rough at home right now, if you get me.”

 

“I get you.”  Michael was not lying.

 

“And alternatively, my ride.  He’s been my ride since, like, sophomore year.  So, yeah.”  Rich ended his thought.

 

“Well, I mean, I have a ride.” Michael remarked.

 

“You do?”

 

“I…” Michael somehow doubted Rich would consider his banged up PT cruiser as an acceptable ride, but it couldn’t hurt to try, he supposed.  Or, at least, in a way, he had nothing left to lose, “yeah, I do.  It’s parked around the corner.  A slushy sound good?”

 

“I mean, fuck, yeah.”  

 

Michael stood up and shoved his hands in the pockets of his shorts.  Rich looked up at him as Michael smiled weakly.

 

“You coming, man?”

 

“Yeah.  Yeah, I’m coming.”


	2. "Strawberry like chasing strawberry kiwi Smirnoff on Jake’s lips."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ‘Yeah, fuck, sorry. I’m just-- fuck,’ he stuttered, and smiled, and looked up at Jake. ‘I’m totally fucking hammered.’
> 
>  
> 
> Jake nodded, and frowned, his hand still heavy at Rich’s side, pressing a deep indent in the cushion. ‘Do you wanna stop?’
> 
>  
> 
> Rich’s thigh brushed Jake’s leg where they laid tangled together loosely, and Rich’s hand moved from his face to grip Jake’s hand at his side.
> 
>  
> 
> ‘No.’
> 
> \--
> 
> Strawberry like chasing strawberry kiwi Smirnoff on Jake’s lips. Strawberry like Jake’s chapstick. Strawberry like the color he flushed during sex.
> 
> \--
> 
> (Or: emotional flashbacks credited to a common flavor)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, you. I just wanted to say how grateful I am for all the support I've been getting from everyone. I'm sorry it's short, I've got a really big midterm project going right now, but I'll try to get the next chapter done in the next few days. 
> 
> We'll be getting more into the feelsy shit in a bit, as well as some heavy heart to hearts and sharing, but i wanted to get this out to y'all.
> 
> (Don't forget to check end notes)

Michael’s dinged up PT cruiser pulled into the parking lot outside the 7-11.  Rich felt the cold air against his bare arms as he stepped into the night, suddenly regretting his decision to forgo any sort of jacket, in stead counting on the promise of the press of warm bodies, or one in particular, to provide warmth.  He needed to stop doing that.

 

The slam of the car door behind him echoed into the empty parking lot, and Rich felt alone.  Jake, his best friend since sophomore year, his boyfriend since the end of summer, his ride, his warm body, his lifeline.  Jake,  _ his. _

 

Rich let out the shaky breath he hadn’t realized he had been holding, and closed the eyes he hadn’t realized were staring into the shop, glassy and startlingly focused.

 

Michael, for all his careful intuition, didn’t ask if he was okay.  

 

“You cold?” Michael asked from his side, and Rich started, before rubbing his knuckle and nodding.

 

“Could you tell?”

 

“I guessed.” Michael turned, “Go in, I’ll be in in a sec.”

 

Rich watched him walk few yards towards the car, tugging out his keys.

 

He turned back to the store and looked through the glass panes to the linoleum, lit up by overhead fluorescent lights.  Rich ambled to the door, and noted the little chime of a bell when he entered.  

 

He couldn’t exactly say that it was warmer inside the shop, or even pleasant.  Rather, it felt something like stepping into another dimension.  The air was not unlike the quality of the boys’ locker room, but void of the distinct putrid stench of sweat, and his feet seemed to fall to the floor harder than they had outside.  

 

Rich slowly made his way down the aisle closest to him, aimlessly glancing over the snacks and thinking, mostly, about Jake.  And then his dad, and then his older brother, and then about strawberry kiwi jello shots, and then  _ Jake, again, damnit. _  Rich bit his knuckle and exhaled sharply, holding back tears.  

 

Maybe the squip wasn’t so bad.  If he hadn’t been drunk that night at Jake’s, his squip temporarily at bay, dormant in the back of Rich’s mind, then he would have never realized his feelings for Jake, and Rich would have never kissed him feverishly on Jake’s leather couch, the material squeaking underneath them as they moved lazily together, and he never would have been just  _ another pawn in Jake and Chloe’s stupid game of chess. _

 

Because it’d always been Chloe with Jake, and back when Rich and him had just been  _ friends, _ he had worried that it wasn’t always Jake for Chloe, even though recently, it had been made abundantly clear that it would always be Chloe and Jake, no matter what or who they destroyed in the process.

 

While most relationships were somewhat self-destructive, theirs seemed focused on collateral damage.

 

If you could even call it that.  Less of a relationship and more of a constant push and pull, eye for an eye, if Chloe destroyed her best friend by sleeping with her boyfriend, it was only fair that Jake should give his up in return,  _ right? _

 

_ Right.  Jake smiled, and Rich couldn’t tear his eyes away, even if he wanted to, which he never once had.  Jake ran his hand through his hair, and Rich was captured by the sensual curve of his neck.  Jake kissed him back, and Rich cried. _

 

_ ‘Rich?  Are you crying?’ Rich leaned back into the leather cushions of Jake’s couch, and rubbed the tears from his eyes, and laughed silently, shaking.  And suddenly, everything was quiet.  Nothing moved, and save for the radio playing in the background, not a sound could be heard.  The music and the light shaking of Rich’s shoulders were the only evidence of life, the only thing distinguishing the scene from a painting, a picture, a snippet of time.   _

 

_ ‘Yeah, fuck, sorry.  I’m just-- fuck,’ he stuttered, and smiled, and looked up at Jake.  ‘I’m totally fucking hammered.’ _

 

_ Jake nodded, and frowned, his hand still heavy at Rich’s side, pressing a deep indent in the cushion.  ‘Do you wanna stop?’ _

 

_ Rich’s thigh brushed Jake’s leg where they laid tangled together loosely, and Rich’s hand moved from his face to grip Jake’s hand at his side. _

 

_ ‘No.’ _

 

“Rich?” He was startled from his thoughts, and his eyes moved from the Strawberry candies they had locked on.

 

Strawberry like chasing strawberry kiwi Smirnoff on Jake’s lips.  Strawberry like Jake’s chapstick.  Strawberry like the color he flushed during sex.

 

“Yeah, sorry, what?”  

 

“I said,” Michael said, slowly, “the slushy machine is over there,” he pointed to the corner, where there was, in fact, a slushy machine quietly whirring away, “unless there was something else you were looking for?”  

 

“No, uh,” Rich swallowed, and made eye contact with the taller boy, “no.  I’m good.”

 

_ Whoa. _  At this proximity, their height difference really was apparent.  He  _ had _ to be at least 6 feet, towering over Rich.  And yet, he still wasn’t intimidated.  In fact, his height only seemed to add some weird kind of sense of security that this surprising turn of the night’s incidents had taken.

 

“Alright, man.  I’m gonna snag one of these suckers, actually.”  When Michael reached towards the strawberry candies, Rich’s breath caught in his throat, and he quickly averted his eyes.  So when Michael’s hand returned with the blue raspberry sour strings that had taken the place next to them, Rich let out yet another shaky breath.

 

Michael mistook the look on his face for judgement, or questioning, or one of those emotions for which justification was necessary.

 

“I’m a blue raspberry man, what can I say,” Michael said, adjusting his glasses on his nose.  

 

_ Blue raspberry. _

 

“Cool.”

 

_ Not strawberry. _

 

“So.  Slushies?”

 

_Not Jake._

 

“Yeah, okay.”

 

_Never again._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You read it! Cool!
> 
> I've got a few questions for you all!
> 
> 1) Let's get some trans representation up in this ish. I'm always here for writing trans shit, so if anyone has any thoughts or opinions on a character being trans in this fic (or in general, shit), comment! 
> 
> 2) What song does this fic remind you of, if any? I'm trying to put together a playlist to listen to while writing and/or for your good Expensive Headphones feelings. Comment!
> 
> Once again, thanks for reading (and @ that one kid: keep your kidney, kid, this ain't stopping any time soon.)


	3. "When had Michael let himself get attached?"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rich and Michael stood side by side in the brisk, lonely air of the empty parking lot.
> 
> \--
> 
> When had his laugh, his smile, dorky, dimples, eyes closed, shoulders shaking, clenched high, way up high by his long, thin neck, slightly still-crooked teeth despite ninth-grade braces, contorted into cruel, thin-lipped, closed mouth smirk? When had everything that made his best friend himself, his, been meticulously picked away, leaving him unrecognizable, inhuman, and every bit what he wanted to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's short, but if I keep the chapters short, I can keep up with updates pretty much daily.
> 
> Thanks for reading!

 

Rich and Michael stood side by side in the brisk, lonely air of the empty parking lot.  Rich wore the jacket Michael had gotten from the PT cruiser, warm and fuzzy and brown like chocolate milk on the inside, a soft cream on the outside.  It hung well past Rich’s hips, stretching down to his mid thighs.  It looked about Michael size, and if there was one thing Rich wasn’t, it was Michael size.

 

The coat felt like a promise, and smelled like security.  Rich welcomed it, and stood, his fingers freezing, going stiff around the slurpee he held, and breathed.  It had been so long, _too long_ , since he had worn something this ill-fitting.  The squip insisted things like this made him look small, weak, _feminine,_ and if there was anything that Rich would never again be, was _feminine._  

 

Or, so the squip said.

 

Rich curled the fingers of his free hand around the long coat sleeve.

 

Michael breathed, and his eyes remained locked on the foggy night sky, alight with the orange glow of the town’s light pollution.  How many times had he and Jeremy stood in place and watched the sky?  In this town?  In this neighborhood?  In this parking lot?

 

On the hood of his car, watching the stars shine in their ineffable presence, Jeremy’s porcelain skin glowing in the moonlight?

 

When had that happened?  When had Jeremy’s pale skin stopped looking elegant, veering quickly towards sickly?  When had his eyes lost their cool softness, a gentle glance turned sharp, selectively unseeing gaze?  When had the _pointed_ nose he had once broken in third grade gone from childishly endearing to turned up, _pointedly_ avoiding michael, void of any flaw, because _to err was human, and if there was one thing the squip hated, it was humanity_.  

 

When had his laugh, his smile, dorky, dimples, eyes closed, shoulders shaking, clenched high, way up high by his long, thin neck, slightly still-crooked teeth despite ninth-grade braces, contorted into cruel, thin-lipped, closed mouth smirk?  When had everything that made his best friend _himself, his, been meticulously picked away, leaving him unrecognizable, inhuman,_ **_and every bit what he wanted to be._ **

 

When had Michael let himself get attached?

 

_‘JM!  Hi!’_

 

_‘Jer!  Long time no see,’ Michael had smiled, staring up at his best friend.  He had been shorter than Jeremy for most of their twelve years, until his growth spurt the summer of eighth grade._

 

_‘I know, I can’t believe it’s been a whole two weeks!  Did you get the letters I sent?’  Jeremy practically bounced in place less than a foot from Michael’s face, and Michael couldn’t help but feel his friend's energy transferring quickly to him._

 

 _‘Yeah, but I had to get my mom’s help to read them.’ Michael snickered, ‘But your handwriting is so bad that I had to help her.’  Until fifth grade, Michael was the only person in the entire school, in the entire_ **_world_ ** _, who could read his best friend’s handwriting.  Even Ms. Sharon had to sometimes ask Michael for help._

 

_‘Shut up, it’s not that bad!’  Jeremy frowned deeply, in the way that only a child could._

 

_‘Oh, you said ‘shut up.’ I should tell your mom.’  Michael teased, jokingly._

 

_‘She says it all the time, she doesn’t care!’_

 

_‘Well then I’ll tell my mom!’_

 

_‘She’ll just get you in trouble too, you know.’_

 

_‘Worth it.’_

 

Michael opened his eyes, swallowed, and moved the straw of his slushy into his mouth, taking a generous sip, silently shattering the numb slowly growing in his core.  

 

“Still cold?” He asked into the night, apparently startling Rich from his thoughts if the little jump of his shoulders was anything to go by.

 

Rich gathered his thoughts, taming the echoes of a man, a relationship lost in his mind, before responding.

 

“No,” he looked up at Michael, and his eyes shone in the moonlight, “thanks,” and he added, after a moment of thought, “the jacket’s really comfy.”

 

Michael listened to his voice, his lisp a soft blanket, pillowing his words gently, and everything seemed to work together more than they ever had.  Michael looked at him, and saw someone scared, and sad, and lonely, and betrayed, and _human._

 

He saw someone who needed protection in the same way that he did, and needed to feel needed in the way he never had.  

 

“Wanna take a walk?”

 

Rich stared at him before laughing, his eyes crinkling and chest heaving lightly with the effort.  

 

“It’s 2AM.”

 

“Exactly.  Do you have somewhere else to be?” Michael smiled lightly, keeping eye contact, his eyes still locked with Rich’s.

 

Rich quieted.

 

“Fuck, I guess not.”

 

“Me neither.  See?  It’s meant to be.”  Michael chuckled lightly, and for the first time that night, Rich saw his eyes smile with him.

 

“Motherfucking destiny.”

 

Michael and Rich walked through the empty parking lot, through the shrubbery, and towards nowhere, their occasional fits of laughter echoing into the otherwise hollow, silent, cold night air.

  


 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You read it! Congrats! I've got most of the night planned out, but for fun, where do y'all think (or hope) Michael and Rich end up next? Have fun!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Parks are weird at night, and letting go of someone you've loved since childhood is a long, tiring process. 
> 
> Or--
> 
> See the beginnings of pining

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Im so sorry  
> So, so very sorry.  
> School has been something else this year, I tell you. I'm sorry for the, like, months long hiatus, but I'm back! I hope to update fairly regularly, but if I'm gone for a bit, blame the US educational system! Love yall, and I thank you all for the comments and kudos, always, even though it's been months since I updated.

“Hey Rich?”

 

“Yeah?”  Michael paused, and stared up at the night sky once more.  They laid side by side on the top of a cold, grassy hill in the neighborhood park.  

 

It was eery, the empty swingset still in the calm night, and the play structure, usually packed with the neighborhood kids, was now entirely unoccupied.  As one would expect, at four-thirty in the morning.  

 

Michael heard Rich shift beside him, cuddling into the warm coat Michael had leant him.  Michael toyed with the bracelets around his wrist before continuing.

 

“Can I ask you something?”

 

“Dude, I think we’re past the point of permission.”  Michael heard Rich take a slurp of his slushy.

 

“Fair point.  I guess I was wondering, like, I know the squip made you do it or whatever, but like,” Michael fumbled, reaching blindly for the right words, “are you, like,  _ actually  _ an asshole?”

 

Rich couldn’t help but laugh, his shoulders heaving lightly, breaking the careful still of the night.  Michael felt a breeze wash over him, and he turned to Rich, waiting patiently for a reply.

 

His laughing slowed and faded away with an exhale.  Rich’s smile soured as he stared upwards into the foggy sky.

 

“I wish I could say it was just the squip, you know?”  Rich swallowed,  “but… truth is, I know what I'm doing.  I know, and I know what it's doing to people.” Michael watched him reach up and rub his hand roughly across his face.  “The squip, it’s been a part of me for so long that some days it’s hard to tell where I end and the squip starts.  It stopped being the squip a long time ago.”

 

Rich shook, whether it was from the brisk night or the sudden shock of brutal honesty, neither could tell.  Michael was, in contrast, still.

 

“Truth is, I’m just a bad person trying very hard not to be.”

 

Michael let that sit, an undisturbed truth hanging alone in the cool night air, before responding.

 

“Honestly, I think all of them are.  Teenagers, that is.”  Michael ran a hand through his hair, working out the wording.  “They’re kind of all fucking horrible.  The shit they pull, it’s, shit like that just wouldn’t slide with anyone else, but, since they’re all like that, nobody fucking cares, you know?  So, I don’t think it’s entirely your fault.  When in rome, right?”  Michael exhaled, and took a final sip from his slurpee before setting it down next to him.  “I guess we're all kind of all horrible people.”

 

Rich was quiet, mulling this over in his head.  Michael could see him lightly chew on the inside of his lip, and started when Rich's eyes met his own.

 

“You’re not a horrible person.”

 

Michael sighed, letting his head fall back against the grass.

 

“I know.”

 

It was silent again, leaving both of them alone in thought, until Michael continued.

 

“That’s what makes it worse.”

 

And with that, Rich understood.

 

More than he ever had, he understood.

 

He understood that Michael didn’t.  He would never understand how teenagers sacrificed life-long friendships for a roll in the hay with whomever happened to be their “dream girl” that day.  He would never understand how someone could let something as shallow as popularity rule one’s life, or how sex was the key to modern happiness, or how even if he didn’t really like it, sex might be the only way, or the only consolation, or the only way to cope that meant any sense.  

 

And it would hurt when Michael’s friends relinquished themselves to the mindless chase, because Michael would never understand being slave to something, either a supercomputer or a crushing libido.  Because Michael, with all his intelligence and independence, would never be a slave to anything but unwavering loyalty and devotion.

 

But people were always going to screw, and people were always gonna screw things up.

 

And Michael was always going to hurt for it.

 

And in that moment, Rich wanted nothing more than to keep that from happening.

 

“Shit like this shouldn’t happen to people like you.”

 

And nobody said anything else, Rich sucking up the last of his blue raspberry slushy, straw slurping quietly in the night air, until even that stopped, and they stared up, identical, mirror images, at the night sky.

 

The breeze was slow, and the metal chains of the swingset in the park chimed in time with their breaths, letting out a puff of fog with each exhale.

 

Michael had never been one for silence, much preferring the constant thrum of his headphones pounding probably way louder than required, blocking out the insults or the laughing or the silence, because it was with the silence that his mind rebelled and twisted, churning with an anxious urgency that sent his head reeling and bile creeping up the back of his throat, his stomach clenching angrily.

 

It was with the silence that Michael knew what it was to be lonely.

 

“Alright, fuck this.” Michael groaned, shooting upright and quickly climbing to his feet, brushing off grass and the dew that had collected on his shorts.

 

Rich stared at Michael, watching him look over the playground at the foot of the hill.  Rich watched Michael’s hair push back against the wind, fluttering and lifting in the air.  Rich watched his eyes sparkle and focus behind rounded glasses.  Rich watched his neck slope upward, more dignified than he thought he’d ever see Michael act.  Not that he’d thought about it much, or at all.  Prior to this night, he really thought very little of or about Michael.

 

“Let’s climb.”

Rich stared, finding his eyes drawn to the curve of Michael’s jaw while he talked.

 

“What?”

 

“Let’s climb.”

 

“No yeah, heard that part, but,” Rich trailed off, “climb what?”

 

“The,” Michael ran his hands through his hair before gesturing off the hill, “Play… structure, thingy.  Let’s climb it.”

 

“Dude, it’s like… four AM.” Rich reiterated, legs crossed over one another, calves bare against the dewy grass, sharp against his sensitive skin.

 

“Thus the basis of its appeal.”

 

Michael’s eyes never left Rich’s as he watched him climb to his feet, tugging out the creases in the coat, his ring finger swiping a spot of dew off his cheek.

 

“Alright,” Rich smiled, taking a step towards the playground, “let’s climb.”

 

They half slid down the dewey hill, taking quick, stumbling steps up the stairs to the top of the structure, hands gripping tightly at the poles as they climbed to the plastic roof, cool under their palms.  Rich made it up before Michael, and watched him scramble up the side of the ledge, hands searching for purchase when he attempted to heft himself up to the top.  

 

Rich’s heart leapt when Michael’s foot slipped slightly, sending him scrabbling, panicked, eyes widened and lips parted.  Rich’s arm shot out quickly, latching onto Michael’s wrist with an iron grip.  Michael stilled and his breathing settled into a calming rhythm when his foot found a solid foothold.  His wrist slid from Rich’s warm grip, before his hand gripped Rich’s with the same force.  Rich carefully helped Michael up, hands still clasped together tightly.

 

Rich’s eyes locked with Michael’s while he crouched on the cold plastic of the play structure, roof slick with condensation.  Slowly, Michael and Rich settled down, separating before sitting as comfortably as they could on the slick, unforgiving surface of the roof.   

 

Rich shoved his hands deep into the soft fabric of his coat’s pockets, and looked off to the side.

 

Michael sighed.

 

“This was probably a bad idea, wasn’t it?” 

 

Rich nodded, thoughtful, “I guess, yeah.”

 

“How are we going to get down?”

 

“Maybe don’t think about that just yet.”

 

“Alright,” Michael turned to Rich, and Rich met his brown eyes with his own.  The night was silent again, Michael thought, and it wasn’t exactly a new concept, the need to fill that void with  _ something, more that the nothing he was used to, less than the pounding noise of Jake’s party.   _ He took a chance.  “So tell me what to think about.”  And they talked.  And Rich’s eyes were softer than Michael had ever seen them.

 

Eyes only ever spotted in passing, directed sharply, notably calculating for a high school bully, now holding his gaze like warm hands he wished would hold his. 

 

Michael thought while Rich spoke.  He couldn’t remember the last time someone had looked at him like that.  Had it been Jeremy?  He had thought it would have been.  

 

But then, he _had_ __ thought a lot of things, some that seemed silly now, and some that were unendingly heart crushing.

And maybe what he remembered was just the product of his grasping to connections that weren’t even there. Maybe Jeremy had never looked at him like that.  Maybe the eyes Michael remembered frequently finding himself gazing into, icy pools of promise of a love returned, had always been but a fragment of his twisted, unrequited imagination.  Maybe the warmth he saw in them was merely a reflection of his own.  

 

Maybe Jeremy didn’t love him at all.

 

_ Jeremy didn’t love him at all.   _

 

Jeremy wasn’t his.

 

And he sure as hell wasn’t Jeremy’s, was he?

 

So what did he owe him?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See you next chapter! Featuring:  
> Michael's basement

**Author's Note:**

> That's all for now. I'm already working on the next few chapters, so stay tuned.
> 
> Also! I did some art for it as I was writing, and partially for inspiration, so as soon as I can get it scanned, they'll be added in.


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